


Never Fair

by Gemi



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Angst, Don is apprentice to shaman in tribe, Leo is the leader of a warrior/hunting team, M/M, oh and implied character death, tcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemi/pseuds/Gemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You are no failure,” he murmurs, and Donatello let’s out a sound that may be a sob. “Don’t say such things.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Fair

**Author's Note:**

> MomoRawrr did an amazing fanart for this! Check it out <3   
> http://momorawrr.deviantart.com/art/Never-Fair-399914040

The skin is dark green and red.

Inflamed; hot to the touch, wet when pressed.  
He is silent as he re-wraps the bandages. They both are.

Leonardo’s eyes are serious and fever-bright. His mouth shut, lips dry.  
Cheeks flushed as dark as the edges of the wound.

Donatello keeps his gaze locked on his own hands.  
Is careful as he hides the wound from view once more, touch firm but gentle. The air is filled with sickness and the smell of herbs.  
His hands slides away. They rest on his lap, and he stares.

There is silence.

Then Leonard reaches out. Grasps Donatello’s wrist and squeezes.

“Don,” he says. The warrior’s voice is rough and gasping, as if something is cutting up his vocal chords. “Calm.”

“You shouldn’t talk,” Donatello finds himself whispering. He reaches out with his free hand. Touches the bandages.  
They go from throat and over shoulders, and the touch nearly burn his fingertips with its wrongness. He _hates_ it.  
He rests his hand against Leo’s plastron. Presses down, and he wishes he could feel his friend’s heartbeat. 

The wound is too big. He doesn’t know what to _do_.

“I know,” Leonardo replies, voice softer, coaxing. “But you shouldn’t worry.”

“How can’t I?” 

Leo squeezes his wrist again. Moves, until their fingers are interlocked.  
Donatello’s hold is loose. Then it tightens, knuckles nearly white with the force of it.

“I don’t know.”

He knows. Perhaps not the answer to the question, but Leo knows _this_.  
Donatello _knows_ that he knows.  
Leonardo’s mind is too sharp, even now, to not know what is going on. What will happen.

What is going to happen. 

Leo is too smart to not know about Donatello’s failure. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses their brows together. Leo’s breath is warm, puffing against his lips. Donatello tries to not cry.  
They are not supposed to cry; he and his mentor are supposed to be guides to the Clan. Spiritual leaders, the healers.  
They mourn for everyone and not simply one. They focus on the Clan.

But it’s hard to remember that.

This is Leonardo.

This is _Leo_.

He feels a hand settle on the back of his neck.  
Squeezing and pressing, and Leo tilts his head enough for their lips to brush.

“You are no failure,” he murmurs, and Donatello let’s out a sound that may be a sob. “Don’t say such things.”

“ _You_ shouldn’t say such things,” he protests, opening his eyes. “I should have done better. I _could_ have done better.”

Leonardo’s hand moves to stroke Don’s cheek.  
Donatello presses into it. Turns his head to kiss the palm.

“You made it so I didn’t die back there. You saved me.”

“No, I didn’t. You’re going to. You _know_ that, Leo.”

“Yes. But I didn’t die right then, did I?” 

“It doesn’t matter if you’re going to die _now_.”

Leonardo smiles. Rubs their noses together.  
Thumbs the purple markings by Donatello’s eyes.  
It makes the first tears fall. His heart aches too much to feel shame for it.

“It matters to me.”

He gasps. Tears run freely, and he clenches his hands.  
Donatello wants to hug, to touch, but dares not. He might hurt him.  
Might make it worse, if such a thing is even possible at this point.

Leonardo makes the decision, though, and Donatello is tugged forwards.  
He hears the sharp inhale of breath, can feel Leo tense with pain as Don is pressed against wounds.  
But the warrior is not letting go.

Donatello shudders. Presses his nose against a bandaged neck and _cries_.

Not long after, Leo’s cheek pressed against his skin.

It’s as wet as Donnie’s own.


End file.
